


Shut-up and Smile

by Pezzythecat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A.U, Cats, Coffee Shop, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, almost everyone lives., did i already say cats?, everybodies here its a party, rated m for swears and maybe a bit of gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25036606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pezzythecat/pseuds/Pezzythecat
Summary: When Jon awoke to the news that the abandoned video rental next door had finally been let, his stomach dropped, it had been bad enough when Daisy and Basira had set up a rival bar across the road, what would happen if someone did the same next door?akaMartin opens a cat cafeits got catsand Jon and Martindid i mention cats?It was my turn to play with the alternative universe.so here have some fluff, angst and general rambles that will keep me happy while Jonny kills me irl.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Gerard Keay/Danny Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 28
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this absolute nonsense is dedicated to the wonderful beings over on the watchers crown server.  
> stay funky
> 
> i update when i update, because i have no self control  
> no beta because i do this to help kick my dyslexia's butt.  
> kudos makes me smile  
> comments and feed back make me pat a cat you have the choice of sixs

One hundred and two had been empty for as long as anyone could remember.

The unit never seemed to find an owner, letting agents turn over at least once a month and auctions seemed to fall through each time it came to the market. 

The shop itself was unassuming, a basement and a back shop with ample space for stock. The upstairs unit always seemed to house a bustling business yet the faded paint and layers of dust downstairs spoke of neglect. Tundras of dust piled against unwashed windows, spiders leaving tracks as they scuttled across faded posters and discarded video boxes. The place had been loved once, a pilgrimage to tales and dreams committed to celluloid, but now, like the things that had once breathed life into its walls, it had become nothing but a memory, a throwback, a dying art-form that now faltered in a digital age. 

If someone were to watch the shop, enquire to its vacant state, they would wonder why the unit was uninhabited, it was prime real estate nestled away on a busy London thoroughfare, the bar to the right of it bustling and busy, the spiritualist shop to the left always frequented by familiar faces, yet the sandstone whitewashed facade of one hundred and two remained just that, a blank face, unnoticed tucked just out of everybody's mind.

The fog brushed against its window, a gift was coming, something it had been expecting yet not in the way the dewy cling promised, it felt the stores pressing in around as the street came to life with yet another dawn, the gentle tug of lives being lived swam into existence. The fog pushed its way in from behind a boarded-up window creeping its way through back shop and down aged wooden steps; it settled like an embrace across everything it touched, the residual damp clinging to the dust and faded memories, returning something that had long since been missing.

One hundred and two waited.

  
  


****

The building at one hundred and four had seen many uses over the years, a textiles shop, a slaughterhouse and a tobacconist to name a few, but now its walls burst with many heavy ladened shelves, fiction, fact and reference books lined them, never left long enough to gather dust from frequent interaction. 

Booths lined one wall, alcoves and nooks the other, the smell of disinfectant and mop buckets mixed with the musty smell of books and pint glasses left out to dry on the dish rack. 

One hundred and four for want of a better word, was alive, in a way that hadn’t occurred in any of its previous guises. It was loved, it was cared for and in turn, it protected the hunched figure that slept now over an open ledger, the same way the man protected it.

The crashing of the door against the wooden panelling echoed around the empty bar, it startled Jon from an already restless sleep. He had intended to go home this time, he really had, yet the exhaustion had caught up to him as soon as he had sat down to do the cashing up.

He could feel the receipts stuck to his face, and he tried to remove it before Tim saw the obvious evidence of his inability to make it home and to his own bed. Again.

The takeaway cup being slammed down on the table sent a ripple of pain through the already growing headache Jon could feel behind his eyes. 

Eyes that felt like sandpaper under the rub of the contact lenses he had slept in, each blink feeling like tiny knives cutting across already sensitive tissue. He needed to stop doing this to himself; he knew that but the part of him that seemed hell bent on his own destruction seemed to outweigh his common sense.

The slap of the mail jarred at his nerves as it joined the coffee on the table before him.

Tim didn’t look amused, he looked worried, something so out of character that it caused Jon’s stomach to knot, it took a lot to upset Tim like this, Jon could count on one hand the amount of times he had seen it. Whatever was on Tim’s mind was not good. Tim wore this expression when he was hurting and didn’t know how to put that hurt into words. He had first seen it when they broke up. They would never have lasted anyway, but in their teens it had been traumatic, neither knew the right words then to explain the complicated feelings that they themselves had yet to wrap their heads around. Scared that outside of their bubble they would lose each other, the closest friend the other had it had been messy, but they made it through, some people were just better as friends. 

Then there was the time Tim had found him in London zoo. Tim had rushed to him Georgie in hand, trying to coax him down from the carousel. Both of his exes teamed up to talk him down when the reality of the big nasty world was just too much for him. He hadn't known what to do with uni done and actual life coming crashing down around him. But Tim had known what to do, the fear and concern etched on his face had stayed with Jon long after he had calmed his own mind. Both George and Tim had held his hand at his grandmother's funeral, when he could not hold himself together, they had done it for him. Tim’s face had taken a long time for the grin to return to it, overcome with worry, a side he normally kept well hidden.

The worst time was the night he had come back to the flat covered in ash and informed Jon they were out of a job, the grin had faltered through fear and despair. Gertrude had burned the institute down. All of Tim and Jon’s research, their life's work up to that point had gone with it, burned to a cinder under the simple flick of a lighter. 

To this day they still haven't found her body, Tim had been lucky to escape with his life and it had been a long time before the grin had returned to his handsome face.

The look on Tim’s face now jerked Jon awake more efficiently than any coffee could.

Jon opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but Tim held up a hand to silence him.

“At least drink the coffee before you start on your bullshit please.” Tim sipped from his own cup, sliding on to the bench beside him. 

A glance at the laptop that stood open showed it was a little after eleven, the large glass pane that ran the front length of the bar showed that despite what his own mind would have him believe, it was day, the heat haze of London twisted and warped the busy street beyond. 

“Stop pushing yourself like this, go home and sleep.” Tim tapped away at his phone not looking up as Jon grunted his annoyance. 

Begrudgingly he reached out for the coffee. 

He wasn’t stupid he knew he was working himself too hard; he had lost track of how many times he had fallen asleep in the bar this week alone, but he lived and breathed this place. He had promised that he would make it work, and he was damned if something like sleep would impede that. He had promised that he would make it a success.

They both had. Even if they had bitten off more than they could chew the small loan that they had secured had long since been paid back, and The Library was becoming a roaring success to the joy of their investor.

They were always busy, from the students who buried themselves in the borrowed textbooks that lined the walls during the day to the workers that came to let off steam after a day stuck behind desks.

They were busy, so much so they had come to the point another intake of staff was on the cards, the pile of C. V’s that had come in the post was a testament to how dated the old work laptop was, it was incapable of even running the job site, the people who were applying via paper C.v’s probably thought it was some gimmick to go with the theming of the pub. Old world charm one pub critic had called it, it was good to know that Jon’s hatred of strobe lighting and dubstep had a brand, rather than ageing him beyond his years the aesthetic of the place was seen as enjoyable and quaint, two properties he would never dream of applying to himself.

Tim nodded at the postcard on top of the mail. “Jurgen is close to tracking down that last book for his collection, not that I want his patronising manor back anytime soon but we could do with getting that broken latch fixed on the barrel shoot out back, might as well make him pay for it.” Tim nudged him in the side. “Are you sure the two of you aren't related? Who even sends postcards anymore?” 

Jon reached out taking the square in his hands, a picture of the coliseum adorned its once glossy front, turning it showed Jergens sweeping sprawl, familiar to his eye because of the ledgers that held the name of every book that dotted the walls of the bar. Soon the book that Jurgen hunted down would join the ones in the basement. A vast collection of weird and wonderful editions from all over the world.

“Postcards are timeless, I know that's lost on you. We can't all live in an Instagram, snapchat world. If we all spent all day staring at our phones, we would get nothing done.” picking through the pile of bills in his hand he sipped at his coffee. 

He winced as he moved his head, a sudden spike of pain jumping from his hip all the way to behind his ear. He tried to play down the ache in his neck, growing worse from the awkward position he had slept in. 

Tim however, saw it. The next moment he was reaching down to press on Jons aching neck, hand working at the kink. Jon knew better than to pull away, not that he wanted to, sinking into the motion like he had a million times before. It was pointless resisting, Tim had always seen right through any protest, Jon had given up at fourteen even trying to protest when Tim invaded his personal space. He didn’t hate it and Tim always knew when to back off, Jon trusted him and was willing to let the man pass the barrier that he often built up around others. 

“This place needs one of us to be down with the kids, so suck it up old man.” he joked as he pressed into the tangle of knots that had once been Jons shoulder blades, something popped as if to reinforce the old man statement. As if answering the creaks and groans of his neck his stomach grumbled loudly, when was the last time he had eaten? Had he had dinner last night? 

“Don’t suppose you have anything to eat in that bag of yours?” he questioned looking at the large brown paper bag that sat on the table.

“I do actually, a Sasha special, although I dunno if you deserve dead stuff in a bun,” Tim dropped his hand from where he had been rubbing in ever decreasing circles to grab at the bag, the smell of bacon wafted around the booth.

“Should have known you wouldn’t be the one behind this” he lifted his cup taking a sip and willing the coming migraine to ease before it started.

Tim looked affronted clutching at his imaginary pearls he rolled his eyes.

“Hey I resent that, who makes sure you aren't starved to death and exist solely on caffeine?”

“Sasha,” 

His coffee was just as he liked it, a sure sign that Tim had been the one to buy him the drink despite his obvious protests, Tims bravado was often just a front for something else and in this case Jon had a feeling he knew exactly what “Where is she, anyway?”

“Off to her interview at the British Library, she's nervous, hence the breakfast, and the extra breakfast… and the… well you know-”

“-was that today” it was best to cut him off before he went off on a graphic description of his shenanigans. As fun as Tim’s info dumps were, sometimes it would just lead to Jon not being able to look Sasha in the eye later. 

It would be sad to see Sasha leave if she got the job, she was a good bartender, and the customers loved her as much as the staff. Jon knew that Tim cared for her a lot more than he wanted to let on, ever since she had beat him at an arm wrestle Jon had caught Tim staring at her as she cleaned tables, watched as excuses were made for them to be on shift together, seen the way they circled the other trying not to upset the careful balance and fall to deep. 

Unfortunately for Tim swimming lessons were needed, or at least a life preserver to keep his head above water, he had fallen for the one person who seemed to be his perfect match yet unobtainable; the land was always just out of reach and the panic was reaching the man's face as he slowly drowned

At least Tim's worry about Sasha accounts for some of the grimace on his face. If she got the job, she wouldn’t become a stranger, but Tim would mope for at least a month at not seeing her every day. 

“She will be fine.” Jon patted the other man's knee in a way he hoped was reassuring, even if he was positive it just appeared patronising.

“Yeah, she’s worked hard, it'll be hard to replace her, but a change is as good as a rest. Speaking of changes…” Ah here we go, the rest of the bombshell “looks like we're getting new neighbours.”

Jon mentally scanned the street, nobody had mentioned moving on, not unless Simon or...

“Is Jane selling up?” 

“Don’t be stupid, she's burred in there for good, plus nobody would ever get the smell of the incense out. Next door, the old video store. It's got the let sign up.” Tim was trying to sound cheerful but Jon caught the undertones of worry. “Better not be another bar, it's bad enough that the Piston opened up across the road.”

Staring across the hazy street the vision of Daisy climbing up to pull the tarpaulin out into the street caught his eye, Basira lazily watched from the doorway arms laden with the bistro furniture. They were friends now, but when they had opened across the road, the rivalry had been just that, the friendly hadn’t come about till much later. Even now Jon wasn’t convinced that Basira wouldn’t push him under a bus if Daisy wasn't there to stop her.

“Well, if it is another bar, that's a future problem, just like Piston was before it wasn’t anymore.” Tim shrugged “Students will still fall through the door if the booze is cheap enough. Anyway, where else are they going to get access to a walking, talking encyclopaedia with their cider and black? I for one welcome the competition.” Tim’s face twisted in a way that didn’t convince Jon in the slightest. The worry over this rivalry was the deciding factor in the internal struggle he seemed to have. “I’m sure it will be fine.” 

  
  


*****

Number sixty, felt like a greenhouse, the sun striking the large glass panels and reflected off the oil tanks and bike spokes magnified the heat tenfold, the barometer was showing it would only get worse and the thermometer had all but melted, the huge vats of craft beer bubbled away at the back of the alehouse, oblivious to the extra heat that they generated as the sun reflected into the large open space.

Daisy jumped down from the bin, she landed, performing a wonderful cover up, nobody would have to know she twisted her ankle on the way down. It had been flawless. Or at least it would have been if the person who was watching her wasn’t Basira.

“Do you want me to get you some ice for that?” somehow keeping the amusement out of her voice was something Basira was exceptionally good at, if it hadn’t been for the fact Daisy knew her better than herself she would probably have gotten away with it but the sarcasm always seemed to sneak through. 

“No, it will be an amputation or nothing.” she grumbled as she manoeuvred to the chair Basira had just set down trying not to limp. “Jon didn’t see did he?”

“No, I’m sure your terrifying reputation is still intact.” Basira busied herself putting the rest of the chairs out, ready for the lunch rush, or as ready as they could be when the weather seemed to want to parboil them on the spot. 

Daisy observed the street, the world was coming to life; she watched the delivery men call at Hiveium still dressed head to toe in thick denim overalls. Daisy wondered how they were still alive, it had to be pushing thirty and it was only eleven. 

She had seriously considered putting a paddling pool in the backyard, anything for a brief  respite from the relentless heat that never seemed to want to break. 

They needed a storm, something to rip through the haze. 

Basira woke her from her daze, handing her a bottle of water and running a cool hand over the back of her neck. Daisy lent in to it enjoying the cool fingertips against her skin.

“We’ve got fresh blood.” 

“Hu?”

“Hundred and two, it’s let, look,”

The blue sign filled the widow, suddenly obvious when it hadn’t been a moment before.

*****

At one hundred and one the heat was unbearable, the building buzzed with a drone from Jane’s fan upstairs. It was barely covered by the whale sounds being pumped out of the cd rack. The air was thick with the sickly sweet smell of the incense sticks that burned on every available space sending tightly curling columns of scented smoke in to the already to hot air; it clung to each breath slowly suffocating till the air in the very lungs filled with the slow decay of burning roots.

“Oliver, do you ever wonder what would happen if one day a sinkhole opened in the middle of the street?” Gerry thought about this often, ever since his run in with the old workings of the London Underground, a metric shit ton of London rain water and enough sewage to suffocate him, twice, or the time he had accidentally caused a mudslide under the old regent street theatre… all he knew is if it had happened twice who was to say it couldn't happen a third, the odds were there.

Oliver looked up from where he was piling the incense in the window, the tower of sticks precariously interlocked into a twisting column that was almost as tall as him. 

“Are we talking hypothetical or were you planning on blowing up the established order of things? Again...” Oliver looked at his handiwork before stepping out of the window. “If it’s the second one can I strongly suggest against it? The ‘get Gerry out of jail pot’ is running low on funds.” Oliver tugged his ponytail tighter, a sure sign he was happy with his work, before rolling his sleeves up and moving towards the tote box near the till.

Gerry watched as Oliver started stacking the shelves with the new books that had just been delivered, all while somehow looking as if he wasn’t melting in the heatwave.

The heatwave was causing Gerry physical discomfort. Somehow, Oliver had kept up his aesthetic without looking like he was about to melt, unlike Gerry who fanned himself with a copy of the Fortean times and wished he had forgone the eye liner that was slowly beginning to sting at his eyes.

“No, I was just reading about a sinkhole that opened up in the states, the entire town just went on like nothing happened. If that happened out there how many hipsters do you think would walk in to it before it became a problem?” 

Oliver paused, mulling over the options, hypothetical’s like this were his strong point. His brow wrinkled as he got caught up in his thoughts. Gerry had never understood what had brought him to work here when he obviously needed order and structure, the two things Jane as a boss was incapable of providing. It suited Gerry well enough, as long as the shop was open at least six hours a day and the online orders were shipped everything was good in the world. It was Oliver that made sure the shop was open at a reasonable time; the till had a float in it, emails checked and sent and everything worked, including Gerry. 

“I’d say about five fatalities , before you or Danny got involved... ten if the two of you went rooting around in the bottom of it first.” Oliver smirked, shooting him that all knowing side eye that normally leads to him lecturing Gerry on how life is short and he should just seize the day… he wasn’t ready for another big brother lecture about the state of his love life from a man who found spreadsheets attractive.

“Speaking of Danny, has his book come in yet?” Gerry got to his feet, his boots creaking as they twisted in the heat, metal and leather angry at the movement towards Oliver. Gerry didn’t blame them, he felt like protesting against the sudden movement also and he was the one who had instigated it.

“Your boy toy’s book isn’t in this lot, but there was another delivery at the back door, it might be in that?”

Gerry ignored the dig at him, but his face tinted slightly at the implication that Danny was anything other than his friend. He hid his face behind his hair and headed out the back of the shop. Somewhere upstairs Jane was singing to herself, no doubt tending to the flowers she grew on the back steps, happy to be at one with her own little slice of paradise that she cultivated on the top floor in a boring street in London. 

He often wondered what it must be like to be so zen all the time, Jane hardly ever left Hiveium and she seemed happy enough for it, but Gerry couldn’t imagine what it would be like to only exist in the three storied building for days on end. 

He found the box of delivery propped near the open back door; they fenced the back alleyway at either end with no access to anyone but the tenants; they often used the street as an extended communal storage area. The area was a friendly neighbourhood, and they all knew each other, in as much as anyone could know anyone who they were forced to spend time around. 

Over time, the upturned milk crates and stock pallets had slowly morphed into a recreation area, a place to come and sit with a smoke and contemplate life. Right now it was blissfully empty, Gerry, as much as he enjoyed the company of others, wanted to be alone and suffer from his heat delirium in peace. 

Gerry picked up the tote and carried it to the makeshift bench and tucked himself into the shade, it was cooler here, a breeze blowing up the alleyway. 

He checked the stock list against the books and magazines in the tote, pocketing the book he had ordered for Danny, the grin that threatened to creep on his face he suppressed, it wouldn’t do for people to know he had things like feelings, it went against his aesthetic completely. Still as he thought about the reaction Danny would have to the book he had spent so long tracking down a slight thrill ran through him, he cursed himself, Danny Stoker was his friend, that was all, he could do nice things for his friend. His best friend. His best friend who’s face would light up with a bright mesmerising smile… the corner of his lips twisting invitingly… why do you do it to yourself you bloody idiot… Gerry kicked himself, he wasn’t about to throw his closest friendship away over some stupid impulse. Even if that impulse was becoming as frequent as the need to breathe.

He glanced up at a hundred and three; the blinds moved with the rotation of the fan, some strange amalgamation of dubstep and violin could be heard over the background noise of London town, Danny was at work. He could surprise him now, or he could wait till next week for his birthday. Maybe after a few beers and a decent pizza Gerry might find the answers to the hypothetical questions that constantly buzzed in his head.

He could take it up to him now, he supposed. But Danny had said that his boss Simon would call in today and Gerry didn’t fancy another run in with the man. 

Simon Fairchild was someone that left a mark, the entire family was a little strange. Maybe that was just what money did to you? Made you eccentric, and a little unhinged? He couldn’t think of many ninety-year-old men who would still be willing to sky dive at that age, yet alone still be running a business. Danny had assured Gerry that Simon was harmless, but he still didn’t like being in the same room as the man. 

Gerry knew it wasn’t just him, Tim had also expressed concern at the way Simon was around his younger brother. So much so, that Danny had made a promise never to take up skydiving. It brought minor comfort when Simon smiled at him still with hungry eyes and that even hungrier smile.

Gerry was about to get to his feet and chance it, when a door he had never noticed before caught his attention. It stood agape, set between their back door and the bar.

_ That door has always been there, it's the old video store , you just haven’t seen it open before  _ His mind provided as the gentle whistle drifted upon the air, catching on the breeze and disappearing just as quickly as it had arrived.

Goosebumps erupted over Gerry’s skin despite the heat of the day. Danny had always been first to laugh at what he called his creep sense, but Gerry had grown up under his mother's shadow and knew that first impressions should not be taken lightly. Danny was always the first to say he was wrong when one of Gerry’s ‘I told you so’s’ turned out to be right.

Right now every single warning that could go off in his mind was screaming danger. Yet it was just a door. A perfectly normal door that had always been there. Empty until it wasn’t. 

The smiling face seemed just as startled to see him as he was her, her smile grew wider as she composed herself holding out a long manicured hand she stepped forward out of the shadow of the faded mustard yellow door. 

“Hello, I'm Helen and you are?”

Gerry took her hand against his better judgement.

“Gerry, I work next door.”

“Oh, new neighbours! Are you the bar or the other one? I suppose you could be upstairs but you don’t seem the sort…” her red hair bounced around her face as she waved her hands around indicating the sky and then plummeting to the ground. “I bet you work in that charming little shop next door, Annabelle told me we had some handsome neighbours when Martin signed the lease. I'm glad to see she wasn’t exaggerating,”

“Thanks, I think.” 

Gerry watched as the woman stepped out into the sunshine closing the door behind her.

She was taller than him and she moved in a way that looked almost disjointed, as if she were almost dancing but just off time to music enough to be jarring.

“It was nice to meet you Mr Gerry, I'll keep an eye out for you around the place.” she waved as she disappeared up the street leaving Gerry not sure who or what he had just experienced.

  
  


******

One hundred and two purred, around it life returned to its walls, warmth radiated  beneath paint and wood and plaster, but the fog still hung deep in its walls, cradling its very supports, wrapping between cracks in faded timber and making itself at home. 

One hundred and two welcomed it back with a sigh.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. boxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cats? the promised cats

“What do you reckon it will be?” Sasha questioned as she tried to look around the badly posted newspaper that covered the windows of one hundred and two. Tim watched as she stood on her tiptoes to try to see through the crack in the paper near the top. Tim glanced across the building notice stuck to the door, trying to find some sign to the future business pursuits of his new neighbour. 

They had watched the builders come and go from outside the bar, but nothing had given it away, the cryptic riddles of plywood would remain a mystery for now, but it didn’t stop Sasha from wanting to investigate. 

It had been a slow week, the heat so strong it even curbed the normal student crowd, no doubt locked away in study sessions in the air-conditioned university halls. Tim didn’t blame them it was too hot, it was becoming unbearable to even think about eating before late afternoon and he could swear he saw Daisy blowing up a kids paddling pool across the road at Piston. He hated to admit it but it was a genius of an idea, though he doubted that Jon would let him do it in the library, too concerned for the books. 

Sasha fell back on her heels with a disheartened huff, she was just too small to reach up and see in the gap. Ever the knight in shining armour Tim swooped in to lift her, the extra few inches giving the tiny boost she needed to get to her spying hole.

“Anything?” he muttered into her back as she wiggled to get a better view.

“counter and some benched… and a gate?”

“A gate?”

“Yeah, around the door it's like a cage? Like you know when we go to the zoo and we visit the birds while Jon… well does the weird thing.” Sasha pressed her nose against the glass trying to get closer.

“The avery? What the hell are they opening? Some sort of pet shop?” Tim looked up as the bell at Hiveium jangled, and Danny followed Gerry out the door.

“What are you two up to then?” Danny paused looking at the two of them “casing the joint?”

“That’s more your department isn’t it?” Sasha tapped Tim’s arm to get him to put her down, he did so, missing the contact as soon as she moved away from his grasp. He wanted to chase after it, just like every scrap she gave up to him, but he didn’t. He knew if Danny got wind of the fact Tim had fallen for the one person who had told him no, he would never hear the end of it. 

Danny always seemed to get the simple ride, he had fallen into his job, fallen into his fresh way of life like it was nothing and still found time to fit in his urban exploring, and making money from it to boot. It all just seemed to come natural to Danny, the looks, the charisma, the silver YouTube button and the cult following. Speaking of cults, Gerry was staring at the building notice on the door now too, finger tracing the bottom paragraph.

“They have a cage behind the door.” Sasha informed Gerry as he looked through the letterbox. He straightened to look at her, confusion clear on his face.

“I met one of them at the weekend, Helen, I think she told me her name was, she seemed ... interesting.” 

“Interesting how?” Sasha questioned moving to let Gerry look into the gap between the newspapers.

“I dunno, just interesting, said someone called Martin signed the lease, I'm guessing they got the place for a steal, it's been empty for years,”

“Probably haunted” it had been ment as a joke, but the way Gerry looked at him made Tim think he hadn’t taken it that way.

“Don’t joke about shit like that Stoker.” his eyes darted to Danny, as if checking he hadn’t crossed a line, Danny however began laughing, shoving his fingers through his messy mop of hair and nudging Gerry in the side playfully. “Leave my brother alone, he knows not what angers you, you grumpy sod.” Gerry deflated slightly at the contact leaning into Danny’s space, the wind taken out of him before he went off on a rant.

“Not grumpy.”

“You are a little, especially when you need a smoke and something to eat,” 

Tim watched the interaction between the two men, it was endearing the way they were around each other, the way that neither of them would admit the obvious feelings they had. Never in a million years would Tim had put his baby brother with an intimidating goth, but apparently bonding over spooky tunnels and forgotten buildings had been grounds for their friendship to blossom. Being stuck in the tube tunnels where the old British Museum station used to be for three days straight probably helped a little too. That was how they had ended up working together on the YouTube channel and how Danny settled in London. In all Tim had a lot to be thankful towards Gerry for but that didn’t mean that Tim had to like the guy, but he could try for his brother at least. 

Danny tugged on Gerrys elbow and Tim could swear the man blushed. 

“You calling in to the Library later?” Tim shouted after them just before they turned the corner.

“Maybe?” Danny shouted before disappearing from sight.

“I don’t get what Gerry’s issue is, he goes exploring spooky stuff for fun.” Sasha grimaced heading back into the slightly cooler but not by much interior of the Library. 

  
  


*****

Jon wasn’t at work, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t at work. 

He sat in the back lane watching as the smoke curled around him each time he breathed out. He didn’t want to be at his flat; the place felt empty ever since Georgie moved in with Melanie, too big and echoey, silent but still too loud at the same time. He missed the company; he missed Georgie, he even missed finding cat hair in his cuppa. He missed the admiral something rotten, the weight of the giant ball of ginger fur waking him each morning was the biggest loss, he had thought of getting a new cat but the timing always seemed off, and it wasn’t fair, bringing a cat to stay with him when he spent so much time at work anyway.

It was sad that he had nowhere else to go but work. But this was where his friends were and felt more like home than any empty flat could, even if he was hiding out back alone so he didn’t get told off by Tim.

The heat haze hung heavy on everything, they desperately needed a storm to clear the air. The sky above was that washed out blue that would be spectacular anywhere else outside of London but suffocated in the city smog.

Tim had made him a sandwich, well as much as you could call a slice of ham and some crisps shoved between two bits of bread a sandwich and he ate it while trying to concentrate on the book on his lap. He was grateful for the quiet space; he had tried to read in the park but there were too many distractions, but he felt safe here tucked away in the alcove his friends not far away and the world going on around him but far enough away to not bother him in his thoughts.

He still couldn’t concentrate however, the comings and goings of the unit next door were holding his attention. 

There had been a constant buzzing of activity all afternoon, accumulating in the health and safety inspector visiting. Jon recognised Mr Dekker straight away and waved as the man inclined a recognition, if the hygiene and health department had been called that meant food and beverages, his stomach dropped, he had joked about another bar, but this meant it was a solid possibility. Suddenly the sandwich sat heavy on his stomach and the day seemed a little colder. 

He told himself it was business research as he got to his feet and headed towards the faded mustard coloured open door, but it was just pure unadulterated curiosity that carried his feet across the hot tarmac.

Empty paint cans littered the back door well, a selection of bright and neon colours and empty spray paint cans stacked up tight against a neon pink wall. The skip by the back door was full of wooden offcuts and scraps of sisal rope. Gigantic cardboard boxes were stacked for recycling, a quick scan and he found what he was looking for, the shipping address.

M.Blackwood.

Wonderland.

Magnus Road 

London.

Wonderland? It sounded like a strip bar… but this wasn't the right neighbourhood, surely nobody would be stupid enough to try to open one here? He racked his mind. Was it going to be some childcare place? A soft play area? The bright colour paint and the labels on the side of discarded boxes that read things like ‘play house’ seemed to suggest it. He didn’t fancy the idea any more than he liked the idea of a fresh bar popping up directly next door. 

The sound of humming caused him to look up and into the open door. A round-faced man with long blond hair draping down his back in a ponytail smiled at him with a wide grin and curious eyes. His face and overalls were covered in the paint, the colours matched the discarded paint cans; the paint covered his arms, and he even had some caught in his errand curls that cascaded around his friendly face. 

“And who do we have here?” he leant against the wall calmly, not concerned by Jon’s trespassing. Jon could feel the blush building up in his cheeks, his grandmother would turn in her grave at his embarrassment at being caught snooping.

“Sorry… I was... I’m Jon, I’m one of the owners from next door at the Library. I just wanted to come and introduce myself, I was just admiring the paint choices.” 

The man's face brightened. Unfolding his arms he offered up a long slender hand, Jon took it when offered.

“Micheal, nice to meet you,” The man held on to his hand with an iron grip, “We were intending on coming around the doors to introduce ourselves but you know how it is, you lose track of the time.”

“It’s fine, new businesses are a handful.”

“So much to do, sometimes you don’t know your own mind at times. I don’t know how Martin does it...Speaking of Martin.”

The door at the end of the corridor opened and Mr Deckker the health and safety officer walked through, he smiled when he saw Jon in the doorway signing off the form on his clipboard and passing a copy back through the doorway he had just vacated. 

“Ah, Mr Sims, this saves me a trip next door to give you your letter,” he rested his briefcase up against the wall, popping his clipboard away and fishing out a brown envelope. “I shall see you next week for the quarterly” 

“I'll make sure Tim is off that day.”

“I would appreciate it, as funny as I find fake spiders and novelty poo, there is a time and a place for it.”

“As I say, I will make sure he has the day off.”

“I would appreciate it. Thank you.” 

The man took his leave, watched by Micheal who seemed to be happy to see him go. His eyes never left him until he reached the exit at the end of the ally and the gate closed behind him.

“I don’t like official people, they make my skin crawl” he muttered, turning back to look at Jon, the fake smile he had worn in front of the inspector stretched back into the genuine one that had been offered up at introduction, “too much red tape for my liking,”

“But it’s unfortunately important” the voice came from behind them making Jon jump. Micheal looked less than amused. 

“Martin seriously I've told you about that, stop sneaking up on people” The man Micheal addressed caught Jon by surprise. He was tall, so much so he had to duck to get under the doorpost, his dark curly auburn hair matched the fur of the cat that sat proudly on his shoulders, its large green eyes staring down at Jon. It adjusted its stance as the man straightened again wrapping his grip a little tighter on the leader attached to the harness wrapped around the cat's chest. A large freckled hand, covered in paint reached up to card through the fur as the cat head-butted the man's face, purring as it turned its attention back to Jon. 

“My apologies,” the man flushed, the colour rising in his cheeks in a way that distracted Jon momentarily from the sight of the cat sitting so nonchalantly on its perch. “That was possibly not the best first impression. Are you going to introduce me to our guest?” he addressed Micheal who seemed to shake himself out of some sort of trance.

“Martin , this is Jon, he owns the pub next door, Jon, this is Martin... the brains behind the operation, part mountain, part cat whisperer, the creature that’s protecting his domain is Keats. He hates me, stupid rat.” to demonstrate he reached up to stroke the cat, its claws moved like lightning striking out and tearing at the paint-covered flesh. 

“It’s only you he doesn’t like, he adores Helen.” Martin held a finger up and the cat head-butted it playfully.

“Only because she gives him scraps from the table, it's not right, cats shouldn't eat chips.” 

“Cats shouldn’t do a lot of things, yet they do, do you like cats Jon?”

Surprise took Jon to be directly addressed, his urge to reach out and stroke Keats was strong, he hadn’t realised quite how much he had missed the Admiral until the opportunity to pet a cat had arisen. He suddenly felt incredibly rude, first he had been caught snooping around the building and now he was ignoring the humans for the ball of fur that he was longing to touch. He really was an awful excuse for a human. Martin however seemed to have noticed the way Jon watched the cat leaning down so Jon could reach up to pet him where he sat perched on Martin’s extremely broad shoulders.

“I love cats,” he muttered as his hand ran through Keats’s silken fur “I miss my boy, something rotten, but he's happier with my old flat mate than me, she’s always at home, I'm always at work.” the cat purred into his touch, sniffing at him to get his scent before bumping his head into his hand.

“He likes you, more proof that you are just a nuisance.” Martin directed the aside at Micheal who had started back towards the front shop arms now full of paint cans.

“That’s why Martin’s opening wonderland, so he can bring the cat to work with him, and so that thing can cause me actual physical pain. Keats wields an iron claw, each paw is like a set of knives, vicious and deadly.” 

“Yet you still came to work for me.” Martin called after him. 

“Yeah, cause… cats… cats are outstanding, just not that one. That cat is a bastard.” 

Keats circled Martin's shoulders watching the man leave. 

“It was lovely to meet you Jon, don't be a stranger” Micheal gave a brief wave as he ducked in out of sight

Martin smiled as Keats settled across his shoulders padding gently as he settled. 

“So you own the bar next door?” Martin questioned, wandering outside into the sun-drenched ally, Jon unsure what to do with himself now Micheal had taken his leave followed man and cat to the gigant pile of unopened boxes by the door.

“Yes.” Jon didn’t mean to sound so abrupt, but it didn’t seem to bother Martin, he sat himself down next to a delivery and started cutting into them with a box cutter, Keats’s eyes following his every move. 

He pulled an enormous cat basket out of the box offering it up to the cat to sniff.

“Course, you are going to want the box rather than the basket right?” he asked the cat. In answer the feline jumped down and sat proudly in the middle of the cardboard. “I don’t know what else I expected.” Martin turned his attention to the other boxes unboxing several more pieces of cat furniture.

“That is one spoiled cat,” Jon finally spoke after watching the creature jump from box to box.

“Oh, they aren’t all for him despite what he thinks. They are for the others when they come from the shelter. Now we have the ‘all clear’ I can go pick them up.” the man's face lit up as he spoke. 

“Others?”

“Yeah, can’t very well have a cat cafe with only one cat.” 

“A cat cafe? Like, a cafe, for cats?”

Martin chuckled. “No, a regular old cafe, or as regular as you can have around Helen and Micheal, anyway. You just get to pet the cats when you have your latte, have you never seen one before?” Martin was watching him now, he had a gentle smile, he looked like a man who should have at least two cats and maybe a dog, something big and lopping like a Saint Bernard.

“No, it’s not a concept I’m familiar with. Why would you want to pet a cat while you eat?”

“Because ...cats?”

Jon watched as Keats jumped out of the box and circled his feet, he had to admit that the idea of a coffee with a cat on his knee was an appealing one. At least if this new business was a cafe and not selling booze it wouldn’t be competition.

As he reached down to pet the feline behind the ear, he began to think that the idea of Martin and his cats moving in next door was a brilliant idea.

  
  


*****

“A cat cafe?” Sasha counted out the change from a twenty, smiling at the student as she did so, before turning to look at Jon where he stood unloading the glass washer. 

“Yes, Martin will get the other cats tomorrow.” 

“Oh he is, is he? You already on first-name terms with the new boy? Im impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you boss.” she winked as she manoeuvred around him mixing drinks as she went, shimmying around him with a grace that held the attention of the students at the bar, she had a knack for getting them to part with their money that rivalled Tim. He wasn’t sure how he would cope when she left, she was the perfect balance to his over stressed mind and Tim’s outgoing personality, she was going to be a miss and almost impossible to replace. 

Jon had to admit he had been thinking about Martin a lot, well to be precise he had been thinking about Martin’s cat a lot and to that respect the owner of the cat hadn’t been far behind. 

There was something about the man that had made him difficult to keep far from mind and Jon was finding he didn’t want to. 

He wanted to find out more about this Martin Blackwood that was moving in next door with his army of cats, perhaps he ought to visit again tomorrow, after all it was rude to ignore the new neighbours.

It was a busy night for it being mid week and as Jon flitted from table to table collecting empties and observing the locals. His eyes kept flitting to the side of the small DJ stand, it wasn't fancy, more of a glorified jukebox than an actual sound system, but Danny was deep in conversation with Gerry as they argued over what song to load into the sound system next. The two of them were a familiar sight in the bar, or at least they were when Jurgen wasn’t home. When he was, Gerry avoided him like the plague, he cited some long-standing family conflict whenever asked about it, something to do with his Mother and the book collection. Jon wasn’t stupid enough to bring it up, if Gerry wanted to tell them he would, and in the meantime it was none of Jon’s business what went on behind closed doors. 

“Here you've been spying on the neighbours” Gerry shot at him as he neared them, holding out his empty glass for Jon to put in the used bin.

“It wasn’t spying, it was a friendly introduction.”

“I heard you were rifling through their rubbish, admit it Sims, you're a rubbish spy.” Danny grinned at him as he collected the other empties and helped Jon take them to the bar, 

“Who told you that?” 

“Wild guess! But I’m right aren't I?” 

Danny was so much like Tim sometimes that it threw Jon a little, he always saw through Jon when he least wanted him to and the fact that yet again he found himself on the receiving end of Danny’s perceptions was not lost on his sensibility.

“Ok, maybe you are, curiosity got the better of me, what do you want me to say? Sorry?”

“Nah, me and the goth were going to do it tonight anyway, you just beat us to it, your way was probably more legal to be fair.” Danny stacked the glasses in the machine for Jon, it was uncanny how the man just made himself at home no matter where he was, he shouldn’t be behind the bar, but Jon never had the heart to chase him out, not when he was helping. 

“Just because you avoided one act of illegality doesn’t give you and Gerry free rein to go breaking into some old creepy factory to look for meat monsters or anything…”

“You’re getting us mixed up with Barker and King again, meat monsters are their thing not ours, anyway it’s too hot to be sludging around slaughterhouses, the smell of students is bad enough.” Danny blanched as a wet bar towel hit him in the face.

“I think you will find that the great unwashed uni students are our bread and butter little man, no slagging them off until after they have paid!” 

Tim lent on the end of the bar, he looked happy at the outcome of his throw as Danny peeled the wet bar towel from his face. 

“Do you know how many bacteria lives on one of these things?” Danny protested walking over and shoving the cloth into Tims face. “But I insist sharing is caring….” 

Sasha chose that moment to come out of the back room , arms crossed she lent on the door frame watching the wrestling match the brothers had started at the end of the bar.

Apparently the heat had pushed all sense of professionalism out of the window, not that the students watching seemed to mind, the view was nothing to be sniffed at. The Stoker boys were nothing if not easy on the eye. 

“Hate to break it up, but if you want to see the mysterious mountain man who moved in next door, he’s out back filling the skip.” Sasha stepped out the way as the others all moved towards the door leaving her and Jon alone behind the bar.

“You didn’t tell me he was handsome.” she accused as she picked up the discarded dish rag and shoved it in the wash pile.

Was Martin handsome? He supposed he was, not that that was something Jon thought about often, he knew Tim was handsome, but that had been something that came to mind long after they had first kissed, long after a lot of things. It wasn’t the first thing that came to Jon’s mind when he thought of Tim, so it would not be something that came to mind about the man he only just met this afternoon. He replayed the interaction, yes he supposed that objectively Martin Blackwood was an attractive man. But the fact that the only thing that came to mind was the fact that he was superb with cats was a testament to who Jon was as a person. 

“I suppose so if you like that sort of thing.” he said weakly for lack of another answer, Sasha knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t likely to notice and would almost definitely not comment if he had.

“Do you think he’s single?”

“You have Tim!” Jon tried to mount all the knowing he could into the look he shot Sasha but it fell flat. “Anyway, it’s not something I thought to ask, although in hindsight I should probably have warned him you lot are like a pack of wolves in heat.” 

“I resent that, and for that very fact ,you can do the taps tonight-” Sasha was cut off by Tim walking back into the bar, followed by Gerry and Danny.

“I would climb that like a flag poll.” Tim announced rubbing his hands together.

“Told you so.” Sasha nudged him with her hip as she slipped past him to serve the new arrivals at the end of the service area.

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Martin knew himself enough to know that going to the shelter on his own was a terrible idea, more than the dozen cats would come back to the cafe if he had his way. The shelter had spent the last month making sure that the cats that would christen the hardwood floors of Wonderland were adequately socialised to take the place in their stride. 

Helen was with him to stop him adopting any more than the twelve that had been colonised together. Her sole reason for being there had been to stop him doing the one thing he now did, staring in the kitten room at the lightning bolts of ginger and black that darted from pillar to post. 

Kitten therapy would be good for him now, he could go lie on the floor and feel tiny claws clamber over him, nudging and scratching and nipping and biting as they mapped him out, a giant friend for them to learn to trust. Serotonin straight to the brain in the form of tiny poop delivery machines. He had told his therapist that the closest thing to happiness was a room full of kittens and he stood by it, although the regular trips to therapy and the medication were the things that had made the difference in the long term, the tiny jolt of happiness provided by a kitten nursery gave that extra kick once in in a while.

Wonderland was a fresh start, a chance to get out of the long shadow his mother had cast when she was alive, even if they funded the fresh start on a mysterious inheritance that he had no prior knowledge to before her passing. 

His mother's family fortune would have been useful when he was working three jobs to pay for her care home, paying rent and trying to keep his head above water. It wouldn't be the first time his mother had directly held information from him, he had often wondered how much else she hadn’t told him towards the end. 

Helen snapped him out of his thoughts with a well-placed jab to the ribs.

“You with me Marty?” 

Helen paused, her hand placed on the door to the room where the cats were being held, her hand already full with a packet of treats and her face torn between concerned and excited. Helen had been so enthusiastic to come with him to collect the cats. He suspected she had been up since six am; he knew he would have a hard job getting her to go home at the end of the day. He half expected her to end up sleeping in the cafe, curled up in the basket with one cat grasped tight to her chest. 

“Yeah, Im here, just thinking.”

“Nope , no thinking, just cats, promise.” 

Helen would make sure he didn’t linger too long on thoughts of his mother, she was a banned subject, not to be brought up unless it looked like Martin was about to shut down. 

To this day he wasn’t sure what he had done to get friends like Helen and Micheal, but the therapy group had a lot to blame and be thankful for in equal measures. 

Room two held the Wonderland cats, and as Martin walked through the door, it felt like coming home. 

When Martin had approached the Ark with the cat cafe, they had been cautious. Emails had been sent back and forth for weeks before Martin had decided to just come down to the shelter himself. 

Martin hadn’t blamed them, when he first came to them they had assumed that he would just want to take the kittens, people like kittens, but the fear was that after they turned in to cats, they would just return to the shelter when they were no longer of use. 

They changed their mind when Martin had turned up.

Or should that be, changed their mind when Keats turned up, his human in tow, harness mounted but not needed as he sat proudly on Martin's shoulder, eyes scanning the walls and ears listening to the sounds of others through the whitewashed plaster, his scruffy but well-loved appearance won over most people, a street cat turned constant companion with missing toes and a lopsided face will do that to you. He didn’t want all kittens; he wanted the ones that needed the love and to be cared for but were looked over time and time again.

As Martin made his way into the room, an enormous tabby cat with a missing ear made its way over to him, his large green eyes turning as he came to heal at Martin’s feet. Martin had promised himself he wouldn't get attached to any of the cats that would be in the Cafe walls, but Grebo was trying his hardest to win him over one pathetic meow at a time. The high-pitched meep that came from his mouth did not match the scared and scratched appearance of the moggy who purred so loudly it was like a motorbike was idling beside him. Getting down to the cat's level and stroking behind the ear only causes the sound to vibrate louder, as the creature head-butted his hands violently. 

“Alright Bo, time to take you to your new home.” 

Across the room Helen was busy tempting cats in all shapes and sizes in to the baskets that the shelter had put one side for them, Darcy a large rag doll had already taken to the baskets, trying to squash his over size body in the carrier meant for a cat half his size and half his weight, his tail looped out of the cage hanging down to wear Merry and Pippin watched it swinging ready to strike. Helen reached down, scooping up the almost identical kittens and popped them into a box, around them cages closed and pitiful meows rang out until there was nobody left but Grebo. Grebo trotted along behind Helen until she got to the door and reached up for the leader that hung by it. The collar and the harness slipped over his head and he willingly jumped up into the waiting backpack when she offered it up. 

“Do we have everyone?” Helen asked as he did a headcount, loading up the trolly with the cages as he did so.

“I think so, lets get them all home.”

  
  
  


******

Danny slipped the bolt back and slid into the abandoned tunnel like a pro.

Gerry watched the darkness for shapes and shadows that weren’t there before, darkness that appeared darker than the surrounding blackness, a shadow within shadows. He didn’t know the history of the place that Danny had wanted to go exploring tonight. It wasn’t for lack of investigation, Gerry had been trawling the depths of the internet for days only to come up with nothing other than old building plans and a title dead in the name of Mordicai Lukas, it would have been a lead if it wasn't for the fact that the mysterious Mr Lukas didn’t have land deeds and property titles for most of this area of London. No matter what you roll on the dice, your little pewter dog is coming down on a square that lines the Lukas pockets, even if the guy that held the monopoly died years ago, his hold was still strong in the buildings that infested this area near the shipyards. 

Yet the building seemed empty as Gerry slipped into the darkness at Danny’s side.

And it was dark, the dark that seemed to drown out sound along with it, suffocating and clinging in a way that made the sweat that clung to him turn cold, goosebumps erupting and hairs standing on edge.

“Light.” Danny mumbled as he groped for Gerry in the darkness, seeming only to settle once the torch in Gerry’s hand spluttered to life. 

“Ok?” reaching out to grasp Danny’s scared searching hand, Gerry hesitated before taking it in his own. After the incident in the underground neither of them were big fans of the dark, too easy for people and things to sneak up on you when your eyes were at reduced capacity. They had vowed never to go into the dark alone after that, but Danny seemed to be extra jumpy tonight and Gerry didn’t like it one bit. He might not be able to say it in words, but he could show him in actions, Danny’s hand shook as he held it. His hand twitched before twisting to meet him palm up, Gerry got the impression Danny was not looking back on purpose, either for the fear of the dark that was gripping at him or the fear of the future that had him firmly in hand.

“We keep moving as soon as we find something we will film… just… keep the light on yeah?”

When Danny didn’t drop his hand Gerry chanced a gentle squeeze, the feeling of it being returned almost stopped him in his tracks. However, he kept the torch pointing ahead, piercing through the impossible darkness. The silence bore down on them, deafening. 

A crash ahead made Danny come up short, Gerry slamming into his back, torch tumbling from his hand and rolling away down the unlit corridor as Danny practically jumped into his arms.

Gerry glanced into the darkness, the light from the flickering torch picked up two dimly lit figures and the glint of a camera

“You have got to be kidding me.” 

“If it isn't the poster boys of ghost hunting, I'm sorry did we disturb your make-out session?” Melanie King snickered, flicking on a high-powered spotlight and casting inky reaching shadows down the corridor that contained Gerry, his arms now full of a very jumpy Danny, pressed close and shaking under his touch.

“King you’re a fucking nuisance you know that?” he shouted back as Danny uncurled from his grip, he was visibly shaken and when he caught Gerrys eye he looked away quickly. When he stepped away, he dropped his hand from where it had been gripping tightly. Gerry felt his hatred of their rivals grow if Melanie pushed her luck, he already missed Danny’s presence. 

“You better not put that in your show Barker.” Danny warned wandering towards them, reluctantly Gerry grabbed the bag that Danny had dropped and headed after him, scooping up the torch and shaking it to see if the batteries were still good. 

“And end the prestigious, will they, won't they story of the century?” Georgie looked up from her camera grinning, kind eyes rimmed with mischief, “I'm sure it would be in my best interest to do so Stoker, just think of the hits! But I know better than to get on the wrong side of you and yours. You would only set Tim on me and nobody deserves that.” she nodded in Gerrys direction, flashing him a smile. He liked Georgie, she held no ill will against them, unlike Melanie who seemed to be constantly annoyed that they kept having the same idea for filming locations.

“We should really start cross referencing where we're filming.” He sighed, changing out the torch batteries that had now succumbed to their own demise.

“And miss catching the pair of you fumbling about in the dark?” Melanie snorted “I wouldn’t miss that for the world.” she played back the video on her camera nudging Georgie to show her something. “Oh, would you look at that so you boys need to hold hands cause you fear the dark?” The teasing tone cut like a knife, the joy in the action now reduced to something that was warped into a joke, as Gerry twisted the end back on the torch he swung the beam up to hit Melanie square in the face. She blinked back at the light “I'm joking! Jesus Gerry no need to blind me.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” He questioned pushing the conversation away from questions he had yet to find answers for, both about the fear that followed them and the strange head space Danny and him were in. Moving around to slide into the space closer to Danny, he had relaxed but Gerry was more than a little aware of the way his eyes darted into the darkness where the powerful flood light didn't quite reach.

“Investigating some strange ghost kid? You?” Georgie shrugged.

“Lukas. This is one of theirs, figured you would have realised we would have been snooping here eventually,” Danny pulled his phone out showing Georgie the floor map of the place signed at the bottom by the infamous M. Lukas himself. “Dunno if you noticed but there popping up more and more these days.”

“That's the second time in as many weeks,” Georgie sighed. “I know you were joking with the cross-referencing but maybe you have a point. If this keeps happening, it might be time to team up. I'm sick of having to edit you out of the videos.”

Somewhere in the darkness a noise made Danny jump, he instinctively moved to place a hand on him to calm him but thought better of it as Melanie raised an amused eyebrow and dipped her head into her carry pack. It would be easier to work together if they kept crossing paths like this. Plus, there would be safety in numbers, it might put Danny's mind at rest knowing that it wasn’t just Gerry looking out for him. Gerry tentatively placed a hand in the small of Danny’s back pointedly ignoring Melanie and her smirk in favour of addressing Georgie.

“Ladies you might be onto something.” 

The smile that Danny gave him assured him he had made the right choice.

  
  
  


*****

“Helen, go home.”

Martin was struggling to keep the smile off his face as the woman lay on her stomach trying to coax one kitten from below the large overstuffed armchair that sat at the top of the stairs. Merry had decided that he disliked Helen as soon as they had opened the cage doors and made a dash for it, his counterpart Pippin now sat in between Helen's shoulders meowing loudly demanding his brother come out to play.

Helen was taking it as a personal insult, swearing under her breath as the small black ball of fluff tried its hardest to become part of the shadows. It had been an hour now, the kitten would not be moved. 

“Martin! There's a cat in the kitchen again!” Micheal called from the back room, Martin followed his voice and sure enough Darcy had somehow stepped around the gate and placed himself in the middle of the food prep island.

“This might be a problem.” Micheal said nodding at the cat, his arms up to the elbow in soap suds as he cleaned and prepped the plates and cups. “If he’s in here, me and Helen can’t do food prep.” 

“We might have to look at a secondary door, we will work it out.” Martin scooped the cat up in his arms and brought it to his face with a little huff, this cat was going on a diet first thing tomorrow “You have one room you aren't allowed in, think you can manage that?” the cat looked at him as he carried him back to the door and popped him on the other side. Darcy turned on-the-spot bottleneck tail defiant and headed off to where Helen was, head still tucked under the chair to give the woman some moral and highly vocal support.

Martin turned his attention back to the counters grabbing the cleaning things and wiping them down. 

“I was thinking, I might pop next door for a drink after we get finished here… do you fancy it?” Micheal asked quietly, moving from the sink to the dish rack that lined the wall and filling it with the now clean dishes. Martin watched him, it had been an interminable day, a pint would be an enjoyable way to wind down. Plus, they should introduce themselves to all the neighbours, it was always better to have a beneficial relationship with them. 

“Maybe Jon will be in.” Micheal peeled off the rubber gloves twanging them in Martin's face as he stared absentmindedly at the wall.

“What?”

“I said, maybe Jon will be in, you know, short guy, pretty face... nice derriere…”

“Hadn’t noticed.”

“You're an awful liar Blackwood, it was subtle, but I miss nothing. No point hiding behind a lie,” Micheal talking like this was very out of character, but when Martin looked up to gauge his expression he saw the look of mischief plastered across the older man's face. “You know there is life outside our little bubble one day you might even notice it,” 

Martin didn’t want to argue and couldn’t even if he tried, he hated that Micheal had a point. He could do with making some friends, other than Helen and Micheal he had nobody really, his life had been so revolved around looking after his mother until this point, his lack of a friend circle hadn’t registered. He should really look at that.

“Let me make sure the cats are settled. Then we can go next door, will that make you happy?” 

The grin that spread across Michael's face lit it like a beacon. 

  
  


Martin did not understand why he felt so nervous as they locked up, maybe because Keats wasn't happy that they had left him with the other cats? He had retreated to the cat bridge that spanned the length of the cafe and tucked himself in the corner, his tail hanging out of the cat bed and glaring over the rim. Martin hated to leave him, but it was doubtful they allowed a cat in the pub next door. He felt naked without his constant companion wrapped around his neck, ever since Keats had come into his life (hiding under a dumpster out the back of his flat) he hadn’t been far from Martin's side. 

He hoped Keats would be ok with all the new cats, the whole point was so Martin could bring him to work with him. 

He tried to tell himself that that was why he felt nervous, separation anxiety, not the fact that Jon might be at work. 

Micheal was a nuisance. If he had said nothing about the way Jon looked would Martin still be having these thoughts? About the man who had done little more than make an introduction, a polite word and an inquisition to the nature of his business hadn’t registered in the grand scheme of things.

Was Jon attractive? He honestly didn’t know, maybe?

If he was honest with himself, he never really looked for anything anymore, content to just be alone, his mother had refused to accept any of his previous relationships, just another way for him to disappoint her. So he just no longer looked, what was the point when his mother was a full stop in any relationship even before it began? 

Micheal pulled at his arm, twisting him towards the inviting doorway of the Library, music and the sound of laughter filled the air, people sat around the tables that peppered either side of the door, the air had finally cooled a little, the storm that had been building still not breaking through. The buzz of a thunderstorm made the air fizz in the early evening haze, the quiet calm of the cafe and the cats felt like a million miles away as they stepped into the bustling bar.

Micheal dragged him to the bar, and he tried not to feel self conscious as eyes watched as they crossed the room. Martin knew he wasn’t the smallest guy in the world he towered over most others in a room and Micheal wasn’t far behind him. He knew he was intimidating at first sight, more suited to rugby or wrestling than to making cakes and serving tea, but it never got easier when drunk gazes fell upon him. Micheal took it in his stride, strutting like a proud cat as he sidled up to the bar and patted the bar stool beside him. The Cheshire cat grin that spread over his face could be persuasive, Martin doubted he would have even made it through the first session at group therapy if it hadn’t been for Michaels welcoming smile. He trusted Micheal, more than he trusted himself sometimes the confusion that often ran through his head made little actions into massive things that didn’t deserve to live rent free in his mind. Micheal helped him understand the twisting deceit his mind played on him daily. 

“What’s your poison?” Micheal indicated to the bar and despite his earlier protests Martin scanned the length of it for Jon. He tried not to let the disappointment show when he didn’t find the man he was looking for. 

He did however catch the eye of the person who was working behind the bar, his large brown eyes widened when they fell on him, raising his hand to his hair he ran it through the short dark faux hawk and made a beeline straight for them, a grin on his face that would rival Micheal’s for its charm.

“All right, what can I get you?” 

Martin glanced at the beers and nodded at the strawberry bitter that was on the house tap. Micheal considered it for a moment before speaking.

“Two strawberry thatches... You must be Tim?” Micheal had a habit of tilting his head to one side when he asked a question, it always reminded Martin of a labrador trying to work out how to get a treat, but it never failed to get the reaction he wanted.

“And you must be Micheal.” Tim finished pouring, placing the drinks in front of them both with a flurry. “And if I'm going from what Jonny boy told me yesterday, you must be Martin, Nice to meet you both, put your money away, this ones on me for not reporting my man to the police for trespassing. Possibly not the best first impression but his heart is in the right place if you can find it.” 

_ His man?  _ Why did that make Martin’s stomach drop a little? Micheal must have picked it out of the conversation too because he moved to speak for the pair of them.

“Yes, well, that's on us, was rather rude of us not to come round sooner and introduce ourselves,” Micheal seemed happy to hold the conversation as Martin sipped at his beer, letting his nerves calm now that he had finally crossed the threshold and gotten a drink in his hand. Unfortunately, the nerves had been replaced with what he could only assume was disappointment? Well, that had been the world's shortest crush, it hadn’t even lasted a pint before it was snuffed out.

Tim chatted to them as he served, his clever eyes darting from customer to customer and his personality changing like a chameleon as he interacted with each person who walked up to the bar. Before he knew it Martin was on to his second pint, Micheal having taken umbrage that he refused to let him buy the drink he had promised. The bar had filled nicely now, and the air was full of happy drunks, Tim had been joined by other staff behind the bar, Sasha had made herself known to them, glaring at Tim and reprimanding him for not getting her out of the back room sooner.

She lent in now whispering to Tim, her hand in the small of his back and a glint in her eye as she darted her gaze over to them, he watched as she gestured to the back room she had recently vacated. Tim shook his head, counting out change over the counter and shooing Sasha away.

Martin was reserving judgment on the two new strangers who had potential to become friends, he never judged a book by its cover, but Tim seemed to be a handful. He told himself it wasn’t jealousy as he thought about the fact that Jon was his ...what? Boyfriend? Husband? The two of them would look good together, they would turn heads in the best sort of way. Why had Micheal gone and put the idea of Jon in his mind? It had only made him even more determined to just live the rest of his life alone. 

“WHERE IS SIMS” a voice boomed over the sound of the bar.

Heads whipped around including Martins, at the other end of the bar what could only be described as an angry goth stood hands splayed across the bar door, behind him trailed another man who looked secretly amused at the outburst, behind him stood two women who were buckled over with laughter.

“Sims, get your scrawny arse out here and tell your Girlfriend she’s a nuisance!”

One woman behind him straightened up “Ex girlfriend.”

“Same difference, where is he Tim? get him out here before I sink to murder.”

“Oh, stop being such a drama queen Keay, just cause you can’t stand the competition.” 

Beside him Micheal straightened up, looking at the goth with a mix of curiosity and shock. Martin was about to question what was up when the door at the end of the bar opened and his stomach did a somersault. Jon stood in the doorway, his hair tied up in a bun, button down unbuttoned at the top two spots and large round glasses perched on his nose, he gave off the air of a slightly grumpy owl.

“What the hell?” he grumbled walking down the bar, ignoring everyone but the two people who stood at the end of the bar glaring daggers at each other. “Gerry, Melanie this isn't a soap opera, kindly restrain from bringing your drama inside.”

The woman addressed as Melanie threw her hands up in the air, turning to grab the other woman and heading for the door. “Danny tell your boyfriend to check his attitude at the door before you come over tomorrow or I'm feeding him to the cat.” 

The other woman shrugged in a ‘what you gonna do’ action before shouting ‘bye guys’ as she was dragged from the pub.

“Gerry, do you have to anger Melanie like that?” Jon asked as he handed him a bottle of water, he looked concerned, the lines around his eyes taut and magnified now under the lenses of his glasses.

“She just… URGH” Gerry looked deflated all the rage that he had when he had been yelling seemed to have seeped out of him. 

“Well, you will have to get used to it, from now on we're affiliates, so suck it up.” Danny slid into the bar stool beside Martin, looking worse for wear, he turned to Martin, “Sorry about that,” Tim took that moment to come back over, leaning over the bar and pushing the other man gently in the shoulder.

“Stop bringing drama into my bar,” he glared, “Family or not I will ban you.”

“Empty threat, I'm too pretty to ban,” 

Tim rolled his eyes, but his face cracked a smile. 

“Martin, Micheal, can I introduce my darling, charismatic pain in the ass baby brother Danny.” 

Behind him Jon whipped round mid sentence to look at them. His eyes fell on Martin and he could swear that Jon was blushing, it was hard to see in the dim light of the bar. “Martin? Sorry… I didn’t see you.”

“It’s all right, you were busy, it's nice to meet you Danny.” he tried to keep his voice steady despite the heart beat reverberating through his skull as he tried not to think of the way Jon’s eyes had travelled over him as if taking him in and mapping him. He was concentrating so hard on trying to keep his reactions in check that he had barely registered the stiff way that Micheal was holding himself next to him. 

It wasn’t till he realised that the normally overly polite man had not introduced himself that he looked around at him.

He wasn’t sure who looked more like they had seen a ghost, Micheal or Gerry. Both men were frozen now looking like they would rather be anywhere but here right now. 

“Gerard?” Micheal asked quietly.

“Uncle Micheal?” he got up circling the others to come face to face with Micheal, his face drained completely of colour now. “Mum, told me…” he blinked, shaking his head. “Mum told me you were dead.” his voice cracked. “Stupid bitch lied to me about that too then.” 

The two men looked at each other as if they couldn’t trust their own eyes.

“Mary, Eric how…”

“Dead, well mum is. Dad is… well dad, he won’t believe this, I don’t believe this… we thought you were dead” Gerry repeated as Danny moved to his side resting his hand gently on the other man's arm. He seemed to spiral dramatically from the angry ball of hate that had stormed the bar moments earlier to something almost weak and miserable.

“Gerry?” Danny asked quietly. 

“I need air…” Gerry turned on his heel to leave before glancing back at them all at the bar. “I-”

“-I’m next door, when-”

“-can I…”

Both men stopped, both too caught up in their own feelings to chase the end of the sentence. Nodding Gerry headed out, followed by Danny on his heels. 

Beside Martin, Micheal slumped in his seat, he seemed to shake, goosebumps coated his skin despite the warmth of the surrounding air. Martin knew that everyone's eyes were on Micheal, everyone but Jon. Jon was watching him and something about that was sending a warm buzz over his own skin. 

“Ok?” he asked quietly as the background noise of the bar returned to normal now that the free entertainment seemed to have ended.

Micheal nodded, but his face seemed to disagree. 

“I haven’t seen Gerard since he was eight, I thought Eric and him... it's just a lot.” it was almost a whisper. From somewhere a shot of whisky had appeared, Martin looked up to see Jon nod sharply, his face still set in that expression that Martin couldn’t quite read. He handed the shot of whisky to Micheal who shot it back without a second glance.

He steadied himself against Martin before shaking his head as if trying to dislodge an errant thought. “I’ll see you in the morning… I need to go clear my head.”

“If you need me, text me ok?” 

He hated seeing Micheal look like this, his face suddenly looking every bit his age. He looked so much younger, normally his carefree nature knocked years off him, so much so that nobody believed him when he told them his age.

Martin would check in on him tomorrow. Micheal rarely talked about his past, and when he did he never mentioned names, but he had spoken of his ex having a child. Was this Eric that ex? Was this fully grown man that child? Stranger things had happened.

“You ok?” 

Martin looked up to see Jon leaning on the other side of the bar. 

“Yeah, I’m all right, not sure about Micheal though, I do not understand what that was about.”

“Never a dull moment around Gerry, drama follows him around.” Jon dragged another pint sliding it over to Martin before pouring one for himself. “I suppose for a welcome to the neighbourhood introduction, that could have gone better.” Jon smirked from behind the glass, Martin watched as Jon’s lips wrapped around the glass. He tried to remind himself that Jon was taken. He shouldn't be cataloging the curve of his lips or the way his hand wrapped around the glass. It was just going to end up with him hurting himself. 

“So does Gerry work here?” 

“No, he works a few doors up at the spiritualist shop, and Danny works at the outward bounds place sky blue.”

“Upstairs from me?” 

“Yup, and take it from me. The place is best avoided if you don’t like heights, Mike and Simon the owners will try to make you jump from an airplane, they are persistent about it.” Jon held his gaze, with his glasses on his eyes seemed to be larger, Martin wanted to work out what colour they were, brown didn’t seem to be a strong enough word to describe the way they glinted behind the lenses.

“Don’t get in a plane with Simon or Mike… ok got it.” 

Jon looked away first, glancing at his watch before waving up the bar and gesturing to his wrist when Tim clocked him.

Tim reached out, ringing the large brass bell that hung by the optics. “Time people, drink up,” Tim bellowed across the bar at large, flicking on the house lights to the sound of groans from them who were not ready to finish their night just yet.

Jon turned his attention back to Martin, “Have you met my partner Tim?” Jon asked with a smile of affection added to it for an extra punch to the gut. Martin needed to remember that Jon was off limits, it was easier said than done, the seed that Micheal had planted was growing by the second.

“Yeah, he introduced himself earlier and Sasha? It was Sasha right?” Martin questioned as the woman in question scooted off to gather the empties from the tables around the steadily emptying bar. 

“Yeah, there's not many people on the books, just me, Tim, Sasha and a few students who do weekend shifts,” he started collecting the glasses that Sasha was piling on the bar as Tim jumped the bar and started ushering people from their tables into the warm night air.

“So the women who were shouting at Gerry are?” Martin questioned handing his now empty glass to Jon who shoved it in the glasses bath, washing as he went, eyes always focused on Martin as he talked. “Georgie and Malanie, my old flatmates and joint custody owners of the cat I was talking about yesterday.” 

“And they work with Danny? Or Gerry?” it was getting confusing, but Jon looked so determined to be helpful Martin was happy to keep asking questions.

“Both, it's a long complicated story, but you were in the presence of YouTube royalty tonight and you didn’t even realise.”

“Oh?”

“What the Ghost UK and Definitely not legal explorations, I don’t even pretend to believe anything that they say, but in Gerry and Danny’s case at least their urban exploring can be put down to facts, most of Georgie’s facts are nothing more than hearsay.”

Jon looked up as Tim dropped the last of the empties on the bar next to Jon, coughing loudly to announce himself.

“Slagging off the ex missus again? Dread to think what you say about me behind my back.” Tim flung his dirty washcloth into the pile behind the bar, it missed, causing Jon to duck down to pick it up and put it in the right place.

“I say the same thing I say to your insufferable face, you imbecile,” Jon huffed, turning back to his dishes. 

Tim reached out pushing Jon’s glasses up his nose affectionately. It made Martin want to look away, but still he found himself watching the exchange even if it was the last thing he wanted to see. 

“You say that but we all know you love me…”

“What are you after Timothy?”

“Alright if me and Sasha make a dash? Just, well you know...” Tim raised an eyebrow grinning. He glanced over at the door where Sasha was busy pulling down shutters and securing locks. “And you have Martin to keep you company, he doesn’t seem like a serial killer. You aren’t a serial killer are you Martin?”

He was thrown by being asked a direct question, his mind trying to piece together the complex jigsaw around him, he was sure he had the corners but there were a lot of blue squiggly bits between here and edges being filled in. 

“No, not a serial killer.”

“See just a regular old murderer, you will be fine!” 

Jon grumbled as he washed the last of the glasses and placed them out to dry, watching as Sasha wandered over draping her arms around Tim’s waist, eyes pleading with Jon to let them go. 

It confused Martin. More than confused him, Sasha and Tim? But were Jon and Tim not together? Tonight was getting stranger and stranger by the minute. 

“Go… but you open up tomorrow,” Jon sighed, grabbing the mop bucket. 

“Thanks boss.”

“Yeah thanks boss.” Tim said leaning over the bar, he made to give Jon a kiss on the cheek but the smaller man stepped away.

“Not the boss, Partners remember?”

“Like I could ever forget, Bad boys for life!” Tim spun on the spot grabbing Sasha by the waist as she giggled. “My lady…”

Jon and Martin watched as the two of them headed out the back door. Leaving Jon and Martin in almost silence, only the running tap disturbing the peace.

“Is he always like that?” Martin asked eventually, suddenly aware of the fact that he was alone with Jon.

Jon it seemed was not in fact in a relationship with Tim.

“As long as I’ve known him, you get used to it.” Jon sighed, turning to fill the mop bucket but eyes still dancing back to watch Martin. Something was stirring in the back of his mind, he had always been told by his mother he was too nosy for his own good, but sometimes he just needed to prod that little harder than a normal person would find acceptable.

“I thought you and Tim were a couple.” he blurted out before his mind could stop him, the little voice wanted answers and seemed determined to get them with or without his consent.

Jon stopped the tap, lifted the bucket to the floor and tipped his head to the side, “Whatever gave you that impression?” Jon slid the bucket along the floor with his foot trailing the mop and a brush behind him, on instinct Martin reached out to take the brush, pausing only when Jon looked at him confused.

“He referred to you as my man, and partner so I just…” he trailed off as Jon contemplated his words. Was Jon offended that he thought he was in a relationship with a man? Was Martin barking up the wrong tree? After all Gerry had called Georgie or Melenie his ex. Was he straight and Martin was not only barking up the wrong tree but the tree was really a phone mast? 

The awkwardness between them seemed palatable, so he did what he did best in the situation made himself useful, it had never failed him before

“Come on pass the brush, I’ll sweep and you can mop, it’ll pay for my drinks,” 

Jon let Martin take the brush from him and Martin set about sweeping the floor. He could feel Jon’s eyes on him as he moved the chairs up onto the tables to sweep below. under Jons gaze he felt the heat rising in his cheeks. It had been a long time since anyone had paid this much attention to him. 

Jon seemed to mull over something in his mind, it wasn’t until he started mopping the spot that Martin had swept that he finally spoke. “Tim and I dated back in high school, throughout sixth form, we go back a long way.” his voice was soft and fond. “He’s always been like family to me ever since, as you can tell, I let him get away with a lot.” he defiantly slapped the mop against the wall “I can see how you would get confused, Tim has a very narrow concept of boundaries. To be fair, Sasha is not much better, I just hope he doesn’t get hurt.” Jon muttered, lowering the chairs back as they moved to the next table.

“Oh, are they not a couple?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, I know Tim wishes they were, they would be good for eachother, but Sasha has her eyes on her work, Tim is just a distraction.” Jon paused in the middle of ringing his broom out “That makes her sound like an awful person and she isn’t, Sashas one of the nicest people I know, it’s just well she’s had her eyes on this job the British Museum and to be fair I think she will get it, she's great at what she does. 'm just a little worried that Tim will get hurt when she gets the job and doesn’t have half as much time for him as he did before”

“He’s lucky to have you,” Martin helped Jon lower the next set of chairs before moving to sweep along the bar. Emboldened by the way Jon talked about his friends Martin found his mouth moving without his consent again. “So what about you?”

“What about me?”

Jon had moved to the back door now discarding the used water down the drain, Jon seemed to avoid his eye, or was that just a trick of the mind?

“Do you have a significant other?” Martin followed Jon to the front door where he tried to jump up to reach the shutter button, sighing, he moved to grab a chair, but before he could do so Martin reached out easy and pressed the button for him, the sound of the shutters rumbling echoed around the empty bar. Jon looked up at him, he barely reached Martin's shoulder and something in Martin's mind told him that that was worth logging for future reference.

“No.” Jon was blushing now, though it was harder to make out on his dark complexion. “You?”

“I have thirteen cats, what do you think.” that made Jon laugh, it was a deep thing that seemed to come from his toes, it echoed in his chest and was like music to Martin's ears.

“I wouldn’t like to judge.” Jon wheezed as he stepped away from Martin, dipping his head and averting his gaze. “But thirteen cats? Sure sign you’re a lost cause”

“Very much single, the only man in my life is Keates, and you meet him, he keeps me on a tight leash.”

“Thought it was the other way round?”

“So did I until recently… speaking of,” he glanced at his watch, this was supposed to have been a quick visit, had lasted several hours longer than expected it was now officially tomorrow. Keates would not be a content boy. “I have to go get Keates and get home, I only meant to be here an hour. I have so much to do before we open on… well technically tomorrow now cause it’s past midnight,”

When he glanced at Jon he looked disappointed, part of Martin wanted to stay, wanted to make Jon laugh again like he did before. He wasn't sure what it was but something was drawing him to this man who was a stranger yesterday but on the way to becoming so much more today.

Reluctantly He moved towards the back door, casting a look back at Jon where he had disappeared behind the bar again, he looked so lonely tucked behind the wood with all the house lights on and books bearing down on all sides.

“Tell you what, why don’t you pop in tomorrow morning, I will show you about, you can meet the cats and I might even throw in a cake or two, how does that sound?”

Jon’s face lit up “I think I would like that very much,” Jon dipped his head but not before Martin saw the way he chewed on his lip trying to hide the smile.

“Then I will see you in the morning.” 

Martin let himself out into the back lane. As soon as the door was closed, he tipped his head back and took a deep breath, what was he doing. Until this afternoon Jon hadn’t even registered on his radar, but now his mind was racing. Was he reading too much into it? Was he just reacting to the idea that Micheal had planted in his brain? He didn’t think so. Not when his heart raced when Jon bit his lip like that, or when he looked up at him with enormous questioning eyes that looked like they could read his very soul. 

Martin looked at his watch, twelve thirty, he should go home and get some rest, he had a busy day ahead, he just hoped he could chase Jon from his thoughts so he might get some sleep, after all he was set to see Jon again in the morning.

  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Staring in the mirror, Jon questioned who it was looking back at him.

The person in the mirror seemed strange and unusual to him, the eyes seemed different, the curve of the nose, the way his eyebrows framed his face. It all looked like him, yet it felt like the man looking back at him had aged thirty years and only just thought now to tell him.

Jon was not a vain man. He took care to look neat at work, his grandmother had always insisted, if nothing else, ‘look’ like the most important one in the room, even if you aren’t, that was for other people to find out.

As he tried to tame a rogue tuft of hair, he lamented on his gran's words. Her authoritative tone pin pricked with affection too subtle to perceive as a child ,but understood now that adulthood had now taken full grip.

As stubborn and hard faced as his gran could be, her heart was always in the right place. A bitter criticism laced with affection, a scathing comment, but a lesson learned. She was not an amiable person to get along with, but he loved her nonetheless.

What would she think of him now? Would she be proud of the man he had become? Or would she scold him for having no clear direction in life? He sided on the latter. He scolded himself at least once a day for not knowing when to stop, and the apple never fell far from the tree. Tim had told him time and time again that there was life outside the Library. 

Jon had yet to find it.

He knew in himself that the amount of effort he put into the pub was above and beyond what anyone would expect of him. Yet that was the problem. The only person who expected anything of him was Tim. Tim, who had somehow always kept a social life around the bar, he had friends outside the boundaries of Magnus road. Tim, who would happily dip out of work early to spend time with Sasha.

Was that it?

Was that strange feeling in his stomach a feeling of nostalgia for a time when he and Tim had been the center of their own world?

It could be, but it seemed doubtful.

Was it worry then that Tim was venturing toward possible heartache?

That didn’t seem right either, Tim was his own person and Jon wouldn’t have him any other way. Yet this strange feeling had come over him last night when Tim had left, still hung around him now, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. 

Turning to face his wardrobe, he found himself for the first time in a long time questioning what he should wear.

Normally he never gave thought to such things. The rotation of grey and white button downs and plain black jeans served him well. Wash, rinse, repeat on a cycle that was as predictable as he was. Yet today his hands lingered. He wasn’t going to work; he was going to Wonderland.

Martin had invited him to see the Cafe. To spend time with the cats and by proxies Martin. That strange feeling in his stomach intensified. Was he nervous? Was that the root of that unusual feeling.

As soon as the idea passed his conscience, it became fact. He was nervous.. 

Martin had asked to spend time with him, and he had no idea what to do with that information. He hoped he didn’t freak out and fall into his usual prickly persona when his nerves got the better of him; he had alienated more than one person by snapping at them when he should have really been snapping at himself.

He browsed his cupboard, his sudden bout of doubt gripping at him as he moved his shirts along the rail. His hand fell on a dark green checkered shirt and he stalled. He liked this shirt; it had been a present from Georgie; she had always liked him in green, had gone as far as calling him handsome when he wore it out for a meal. 

Was he actively trying to look good for Martin? His actions seemed to indicate it. He grabbed the shirt and pulled it on before he could change his mind. He was making an effort. An effort for Martin.

Martin, who he had to admit had not been far from his mind since last night.

Tucking his hair back behind his ears and grabbing his satchel, he headed for the door and Wonderland before he could think of a way to talk himself out of it.

  
  
  


Tim didn’t want to open his eyes. The world that filtered through his closed lids had that warm glow to it that invited you to sleep just a little longer and who was he to deny the gods of sleep?

The gentle sound of someone talking caught his attention, eyes still tight as he naturally strained to hear the conversation that was on the edge of his conscious mind.

Sasha’s voice was low and happy as it spooled in from the hallway. Whoever she was talking to hidden away to him on the other end of the phone.

The soft sound of footsteps on laminate flooring alerted him to her return, the dip of the bed and the curling of herself into his side, his more preferred way to be woken.

“I got the job.”

The curl of her lips against his cheek indicated a smile, the gentle pass of her fingers against his chest filling him with both love and despair.

Reaching out he pulled her closer, burying his face in her curls to hide his growing feeling of loss. This wasn’t about him. This was about Sasha, and she deserved all the happiness in the world. “Well done,love.”

“Start next Monday.” her voice sounded full of pride, and Tim hated himself for not wanting her to leave the Library. This was what she had always wanted, this was her chance to shine, he had no right to want to keep her close and protect her, he didn’t own her. Sasha was her own , and that was why he loved her.

He loved her.

Twisting in his arms she pulled him down into a kiss, he tried to pour into it just how much he needed her, how much he loved her, how much he hoped that this wouldn’t be the end of whatever this was between the two of them.

When she pulled away, she searched out his eyes, looking for something? Maybe if he thought about it hard enough, he could force the words. It scared him to say into her mind by willpower alone.

“We need to get to work, boss. You promised Jon remember” her smile radiated as she rolled from the bed and headed to Tim’s dresser where she helped herself to one of his shirts, grinning at him as she pulled it on and tied it into a crop top.

“Come on Stoker, we need to get to work so I can give you my resignation…. chop chop.”

Reluctantly Tim got up and began his morning routine.

If he went slow enough, maybe Sasha wouldn't get around to writing that letter.

Keats had decided that today he rather enjoyed tripping Martin up, he had done it three times already and was well on the route to making it the forth when Micheal opened the back door and Keats made a dart for shelter. There was no reason for his cat to dislike Michael the way he did, yet the animal seemed to be constantly on edge around him. Martin put it down to some previous trauma. He did not understand what sort of life Keats had before he added himself into Martins, but from the creature's scars and missing appendages it couldn’t have been a good one.

He was about to retrieve the beast when he saw the look on Michael’s face. The normally jovial man had no sign of that visage upon his face. His eyes rimmed with red, his lips down-turned in a way Martin had never been privy to, he looked a mess.

“Micheal?” Martin pressed forward, following the older man into the back kitchen, ignoring the agitated mews of the cats for being denied entry in his wake.

Micheal faced the workstation, his back to Martin. 

“I was thinking of the whiskers cup cakes, and maybe some paw biscuits, maybe welcome bags to take around the doors.” he addressed the wall and the shelves where he began pulling down jugs of flour and canisters of sugar. “I was also thinking we could add pink to the hot chocolate, I watched a video last night on strawberry chocolate-”

“Micheal. Do you need to talk about it?” Martin cut him off. If Micheal had spent the entire night on YouTube looking up cooking tips, he was in a bad way. As he spoke, he watched the other man sag onto the workbench.

“What’s to talk about? The fact that the love of my life is apparently alive? or the fact that the son I mourned came back from the dead in a bar last night?”

Martin’s tentative hand on Micheal’s shoulder vibrated the others' pain through him, in the time he had known Micheal he had never so much as seen the man frown. To see him break down like this, it was new, and it scared him a little. He didn’t know how to fix this.

He withdrew his hand, moving over to put the kettle on. Tea would help. Tea always helped.

He waited for the sobs to subside and the clattering of mixing bowls and utensils to fill the silence.

“Mary lied to me. Lied to my face.” Micheal muttered under his breath as he measured out ingredients, “Eric is Eric, Micheal, selfish to the last,” he mocked the words were barely audible over the clattering of the utensils but Martin could pick out the words ‘Cancer’ and ‘End things’ from the mutterings. Martin knew better than to interrupt letting Micheal work his way through his thought process until he slammed the metal mixing bowl down with a large crash.

“Are you alright to be at work?” Martin ventured putting the cup of tea down at the end of the bench, out of the way of Michaels wrath and out of the path of the angrily made cookies that were beginning to take shape before him.

“Better here than at home,” he snapped, but there was no venom in it, Micheal’s rage wasn’t directed at Martin , it was directed at the past and what could have been. “You need me here, wonderland needs me here,” he shrugged “let me use a rolling pin and pretend that this cookie dough is Mary’s face.” he slapped the cookie mix onto the stainless steel countertop with a satisfying wallop “not to speak ill of the dead, but hell would be too good for that woman, vile thing, corrupted to the core. But Eric would go back to her because of Gerry. He always said he couldn’t leave Gerry, and I hated her for that.” he sighed, rolling the dough into a ball and bringing the rolling pin down again till the surface was flat and he could bring the cookie cutter to it. He paused before he pressed down on the first paw shape biscuit. 

“I told him, time and time again, we could take Gerry and just run. But the law would side with Mary, time and time again. Two men would never get custody, not back then. So he would go back, scared that Gerry would get stolen away.” he pushed down on the cutter and the sharp edge squeaked on the counter setting Martin’s teeth on edge, Micheal looked so angry, a side of him that Martin had never seen, his face twisted into a vicious grin that looked like it could cut glass. “I walked away, in the end. I loved him so much that I couldn’t make him choose. I needed him to be happy, and he was never going to be happy with me, not when he couldn't see Gerry every day.”

Micheal pushed the cookie out of the mold placing it on the baking tray and busying himself with his next cut, Martin gave him time to compose himself, this was the most Martin had ever heard the man talk about his past, he kept his cards close to his chest, and to be fair Martin could see why.

“I loved Gerry like my own, I lost both of them that day.” he sighed. The anger in his face fading now, it didn’t pull at his edges. The soft round face of the man Martin admired returned as he punched out more cookies and instructed Martin to turn on the oven.

“Maybe this was supposed to happen?” Martin suggested as Micheal slid the baking tray on to the shelf and closed the oven door with a sigh.

“You’re starting to sound like Helen.”

“Maybe this time, that’s not a bad thing?”

“Maybe,”

“Something brought us here, made us choose this shop, maybe it was fate?”

Micheal glanced over his shoulder as he moved on to measuring up for his cupcakes. He looked more like himself now, though the red still rimmed his eyes. “We both know that fate never falls on the hand that rolls the dice”

“Well, maybe just for once the house won’t win.” Martin sipped his tea, Micheal was going to be ok. It was a lot when life finally caught up with you. He should know, he had spent the last twelve months catching up with the life he hadn’t even realized existed behind his mother's web of lies. 

It was easy to understand how one person could manipulate the truth for their own gain. His mother had done it for long enough. How much did he still have to discover about his own history? At least he didn’t have to worry about his mother walking through the door, he had seen her cremated, and his father… well if he had any idea where he was he didn’t fancy kicking that wasp nest of negative emotions. 

Micheal would just need him to be there, the same way Micheal had been for him, they would make it work.

“So are you going to talk to Gerry or?”

Micheal turned on the electric whisk, eyes set on the mixing bowl before him. 

Martin understood. He was dismissed.

  
  
  
  
  


*******

Danny knocked on the door to Gerry’s room.

The sound of the Cure floated under the crack below the door, Danny took the change in musical tone from the Smiths as a good sign. Nobody who wanted to talk would listen to Morrissey on repeat for ten hours.

The music turned down, Danny paused in the action of knocking again. He could picture Gerry sitting on his bed, hair blocking out the world as he picked angrily at his nails. 

Danny was meant to be at work hours ago but he didn’t want to leave Gerry when he was like this. So he had taken a work from home day, staring at the booking for the next month but eyes and mind not taking it in. His mind fixed firmly on Gerry’s locked bedroom door. 

Word had traveled fast and Oliver had text Danny, he would open up and cover Gerry’s shift for him, no matter how strange Danny found Oliver and his thousand-yard stare, he was still a good man. Gerry wouldn’t be his friend if he wasn’t. He trusted Gerry’s ability to get the measure of people. Danny knew his own ability to judge was askew. It was what happened when you grew up with a brother like Tim, a man who was everybody's friend, until he wasn’t. Danny had many acquaintances but very few friends, and even fewer people that he trusted, Tim obviously fell into the last category, and it had twisted Jon into his life for so long that he was almost family at this point. His circle of trust was so small, yet Gerry had fallen into the center as if he were always just a missing part that Danny hadn’t been aware of.

After the monsters in the underground's darkness, he never wanted to be without the constant light that was Gerry by his side, he scared the darkness away. He just hoped that Gerry would trust him enough to do the same.

Most people thought of Gerry as an imposing figure, towering over the top of them, it was an image Gerry worked hard on, yet when he opened the door to Danny, he looked small and vulnerable and Danny felt his heart break a little. He rarely saw Gerry without his new rocks on his feet, the extra platform of their sturdy sole adding to his towering height.

But now he stood in socked feet (black with red dinosaurs on them) slouching in pyjama pants and wearing an oversized black sleep shirt, worrying at his lip ring between his teeth.

His eyes were red, but not the red of the eyeshadow that normally made his bright blue eyes pop, Gerry had been crying, something that Danny had never seen before and resolved in that moment never to see again.

Without his boots on, the two of them were more or less the same height, and it felt strange to not have to crane his neck to look the other man in the eye.

“You moved on to Robert Smith, figured it was safe to approach the creature's layer… I brought coffee, as black as your soul,” he lifted the two cups in his hand “and I bought us biscuits with the stupid smiley faces on, because even you can’t be emo all the time.”

“Jam or chocolate?” Gerry questioned, his voice broken from crying.

“Both, I am not an idiot.” Gerry moved to one side giving Danny access to his room, the stark white walls were covered in his art, the desk cluttered with paint pots and his laptop, the music played through the speakers, page open on obituaries.

Danny looked at the chair sitting at the desk discarded with a mountain of black clothes and then at the bed, he picked the latter, placing the cups on the floor and scooping the packet of biscuits out of his back pocket and throwing them on the dark red comforter. All the while Danny could feel Gerry’s eyes on him, the heat of it warming him more than the sweltering sun outside. He debated sitting on the floor, then gave it up for the bed.

Gerry closed his door, moving over to turn the music down on his laptop and closing out the web page.

“Take it you didn’t find what you were looking for?” Danny addressed Gerrys slumped back.

“I never thought to check, why would I? I was a kid, I trusted what mum said, like a fucking idiot.” he ran his hand through his hair shoving it out of his face, “She did nothing but lie to me and dad, I don’t even know why you would lie about something like this,”

Danny waited for Gerry to slump over to the bed, wrapping his long arms around his own knees before passing him his coffee.

“I didn’t think you had any uncles.” Danny prodded after a few moments of silence.

“I don’t, not really. Did you ever have a family friend when you were a kid, that you used to call Uncle?” Gerry was watching the steam rise from his cup, caught up in whatever memories were playing out in the pattern the heat left before his eyes. “He was like dad’s best friend, we were always at his house, mum hated it, I remember her yelling so much that it wasn’t right. That they shouldn’t spend so much time together that dad belonged to her…” Gerry’s voice trailed off as realisation dawned upon him. “Dad was with Micheal, wasn’t he?”

Danny sighed, for someone so clever sometimes Gerry could be a little dense.

“I think that may well be a possibility.” Danny pushed the biscuits towards the other man, waiting while he got his mind in order.

“It would explain a lot,” Gerry helped himself to a biscuit. “It would explain why we never went to a funeral.”

The way Gerry was looking at him now was pulling on parts of Danny’s heart that he had sworn long ago he wouldn’t listen to. Even so, he found himself reaching out to place a hand on Gerry’s knee, shuffling closer on the bed. He told himself it was just as an act of comfort, but he wasn’t sure if that applied to Gerry or himself. He wanted to make this alright; he wanted to make sure that Gerry knew he was there for him. The door between them last night had been too much. He had just wanted to hold the other in his arms, ease away the tears. But this wasn’t the time for that sort of revelation, Gerry didn’t need that in his life right now, although comfort in these times would be an oasis in the desert.

“Have you said anything to Eric yet?” he ventured as Gerry placed his hand atop of Danny’s own, his voice catching as the action threw him. Gerry shook his head, glancing at the phone that sat discarded on the bed.

“What do I say?” he grimaced. Did Gerry know what he was doing, that Danny couldn’t concentrate on the problem while Gerry ran his thumb across the back of his hand like that. It was drawing all of his attention to that, rather than the gargantuan life-changing event that was underling around them. Or was he very aware, and the touch was an invitation, Gerry’s own way of taking control of the world that he knew, they had been teetering on edge of this precipice for so long that this thing between them was less of a lifeline and more of an avalanche waiting to push them over the edge.

Danny turned his hand, wrapping his fingers in with Gerry’s.

“You tell him the truth. Eric deserves to know,” Danny chanced a glance at Gerry’s face, “I’d want to know if it were you.”

Gerry held his gaze. This close his eyes were even more mesmerising, but there was a look in them, a resolve “Stay with me while I call him?”

Danny gave his hand a gentle squeeze,

“Not going anywhere.”

  
  


*******

Knock, knock.

Martin jumped, he had been standing by the back door about to take the rubbish to the bins and had not been expecting the tapping on the door just as he had reached out to turn the nob.

“Martin?” questioned Jon from the other side of the door.

The fuck had been out loud then, had it? Martin cursed himself. On the inside this time, he hated swearing in front of people; it wasn’t the polite thing to do. He straightened out his shirt and picked up the black bag he had dropped when he jumped before reaching out to turn the door handle.

Jon looked concerned, Jon looked gorgeous.

Shit.

“You ok Martin?” he asked, eyes wide as he visibly looked Martin up and down, Martin wishing that the ground would swallow him whole. Had he gone as red as he thought he had? He tried to school his face. He could pull this back. Then he looked at Jon, his cheeks darkened in the same way they had the night before in the bar, Jon was just as awkward and embarrassed as he was, Martin could do this, but why was his heart racing and he was sure his palms had gone sweaty around the bin bag.

“You gave me a shock, it’s normally me sneaking up on others, not the other way around.” Martin nodded towards the skip, and Jon fell into step at his side.

The part of him that had not expected Jon to turn up purred happily at this turn of events. 

Jon was here to see him. He wished he could make his heart stop beating quite so fast, it was pounding in his ears and he was sure most of the blood in his body had risen to his cheeks.

“So…” Jon began

“So” Martin repeated, unsure where to start the conversation, as he threw the bag in the skip.

“How’s Micheal? After last night?” Jon questioned, Martin watched as he fiddled with the strap of his satchel, twisting it under his fingers as tapping the buckle against the one black ring that sat upon his hand. Jon was nervous. Somehow that made Martin less worried about his own nerves.

“He was in a bit of a mess this morning, but he’s dealing with it the best way he knows how. Baking.” Martin gestured back towards the yellow door. “Helen is giving him a wide berth, she’s gone out to hand out fliers, so between him locking himself in the kitchen and Helen being awol, we have the cats to ourselves.”

Jon’s face lit up at that prospect. He looked so different without glasses on, that owl-like image had been replaced with that of sharp edges and sleep deprived visage. He wore it well though, in that classical handsome way, so much so that when the smile on the man's face turned upon him, Martin could feel something like longing growing in his chest.

He shouldn’t read too much into it , Jon could very well just be here to see the cats.

Yet as he pushed open the back door of Wonderland, he let himself feel that most treacherous of things.

Hope.


End file.
